I see the crystal raindrops fallAnd the beauty of it allIs when the sun comes shining throughTo make those rainbows in my mindWhen I think of you some timeAnd I want to spend some time with you

Halcyon is level 20. An up-and-coming Paladin. Ready to serve the Sin’Dorei causes. One new mission was laid before her by her Paladin Trainer. To acquire the materials for the Blood Tempered Ranseur, the trade-mark weapon of the cadet Blood Elf Paladins.

There was a part to be retrieved from Deathholme, but we would save that for another night.

The other parts appear to be slightly more difficult in getting. But Halcyon has friends. Powerful friends. She knows 800 pounds of bovine intelligence: Blackhoof. And, well, in the old world a level 65 Enhancement Shaman is a force to be reckoned with. If you happen to be one of the beginning instances.

So, our first target was Shadowfang Keep. He met in the Undercity, she porting in from Silvermoon City, and I from Shattrath City. We both hopped bats to the Sepulcher, and ran to the Keep. Rawr. (Sorry, but you get to feeling like that when you revisit old instances, particularly ones that gave you problems.) We make our way down to the jail cells, whack, whack, turn the dogs to bone. We speak with Sparky, the Keep’s new (NEW?!?!) prisoner in the jail cells. He reveals the secret of where the ingot, the first material she needs, is to be found. In a box in the stables. I can’t kill him, pink skinned human, (URGES!) and oddly, I can’t lock the cell again. (Heh.) And then we speak with the Forsaken prisoner who gets us into the courtyard. And there I am unleashed rage, a Shaman on the warpath. I leave everything dead, and those already dead, they wind up deader. WOP WOP WOP WOP dead dead dead dead. Hooah! /flex. And there’s Sparky, in new skin. Furry skin. Thin skin. Paper thin. Aw. Poor Sparky.

Halcyon enters the stables, her path cleared before her like she was royalty. I wish I had some rose petals to dust the path before her with.

And I decide it’s just a minute or two more until we reach the ghostly Commander Springvale, so let’s pay him a visit. And we leave Springvale pushing up daisies and Halcyon loots him. The Commander’s Crest drops. (A nice, blue, level 23 Shield: [623 Armor, 13 Block, +6 Str, +3 Stam, +3 Spi]) She’s dinged 21 by now, and in 2 levels she’ll be able to use it. Nice. We shake the dog fur off our gear and make our way out and back to Tirisfal Glades.

The next step was the zeppelin flight to Orgrimmar, and into Ragefire Chasm. Halcyon happened to be on a quest there already, and the two tomes she needed quickly dropped. (What are Orc hooligans doing with reading material??) But the real goal was killing a named Orc and activating the orb behind him and summoning a demon. Demon summoned, and we’ve got his blood. Two materials acquired. When we departed the average intelligence, and beauty, of Orgrimmar’s populace plummeted. (Blood Elves have behaved themselves remarkably well on Kirin Tor. The feared nekkid belf dance parties on the mailbox outside the bank never materialized.)

Next stop was to make the trip into the Night Elf lands. We ran to the Crossroads, picked up the flightpoint, then turned north for the long jog to Splintertree Post. That flightpoint in hand, we veered west and travelled around Astranaar (“Hello you lop eared bastards! Get into the sun more you freaks!” /wave – Life on a PvE server isn’t all death and bloodshed!) to Zoram Strand. The last materials we’d get in the old world was the gem, and those drop quickly off the naga outside of the Blackfathom Deep’s entrance.

It was a long night. Halcyon and Blackhoof visited three world instances, on two continents. And Halcyon is just short one material, the insignia of the Blood Knight. That task will fall to her and Sunstriker when next they return to Deathholme and complete the last of the missions they have there.

Just the two of usWe can make it if we tryJust the two of us, just the two of usJust the two of usBuilding castles in the skyJust the two of us, you and I

(Just the Two of Us, 1980, by Bill Withers.)

P.S. My wife *hates* pugs and enjoys it best when it’s just the two of us. And I love seeing her happy, wearing, not singing, the blues.